


Tommy and the Newt

by Izcana



Series: Once Upon a Time... [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alby as Philippe, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Ava Paige as the Teapot, Beauty and the Beast AU, Brenda and Jorge are the Same Age, Chuck as Chip, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Thomas (Maze Runner), Doctor Leavitt as Lefou, F/F, F/M, Feminization, Gally as the Clock, Harriet as the Piano, Janson as Gaston, Jorge as Maurice, M/M, Minho as the Candle Holder, Multi, Newt (Maze Runner) as Beast, Teresa as the Closet, Thomas (Maze Runner) as Beauty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27175703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izcana/pseuds/Izcana
Summary: Once upon a time...There was a boy living in a small town in Mexico called The Scorch, one of the few minority towns that spoke French. Far, yet oh-so-close away, there was another boy living in a castle commonly known as the Glade.When the prince turned 17, he was cursed by a witch bearing a rose. The only way to break the spell was to find his true love and to share a kiss before the last petal of the rose fell.There was no point, for who could learn to love a beast?
Relationships: Background Brenda/Jorge (Maze Runner), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Series: Once Upon a Time... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983586
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19
Collections: LizzyANT fav Newtmas, Pieces of Newtmas, Rainy Day Reads, Where The Fandom Meets The Fandom





	1. More Than This Provincial Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skyofstardust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyofstardust/gifts), [VCCV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Once Upon a Parody](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886569) by [NCVega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NCVega/pseuds/NCVega). 



> This is Beauty and the Beast but in Newtmas form. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belle Soundtracks -  
> (Animated): <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tTUZswZHsWQ>  
> (Film): <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMzet0pZmW4>

**********

{"Beauty _doesn't matter because in the end, we all lose our looks and all we have is our heart." – Ann Curry_ }

**********

"Little town, it's a quiet village..." The boy named Thomas murmured as he walked past the chickens pecking at seeds in his garden.

"Bonjour!" The many inhabitants of the village said, smiling politely at Thomas. He nodded back.

Thomas, clutching his precious book, skipped to the baker. On his way, he could vaguely hear the citizens' mutters. "He's strange, no question", "dazed and distracted, can't you tell?", "never part a crowd", "head always stuck in the clouds"

He ignored all of that. "Morning, Monsieur Jean," Thomas greeted, feeding one of his apples to the horse. 

"Morning, Tom!" The hearty man said, grinning. "Nice book you're readin' there?"

"Yes, it's about a beanstalk and a –––" Thomas stopped his ramble when he saw that Monsieur Jean had stopped listening.

"Sounds boring," the man hurriedly replied. "MARIE! THE BAGUETTES!" 

Thomas turned away and chuckled at the simplicity. "Bonjour, good day!" The villagers continued to great each other with repetitive chants. He watched the man selling fish flirt with a girl. "Bonjour, good day, how is your family?" 

The girl giggled. "Bonjour, good day, how is your wife?" He stopped then.

"There must be more than this provincial life..." Thomas sang loudly, causing more than a few heads to turn his way. He ignored them and looked around of the quaint, peaceful yet boring and fake reality of his village.

"Morning!" Thomas called out enthusiastically as he rang the bell of the bookshop.

"Morning, Tom," Kevin Anderson, the library owner replied, climbing down from his ladder. "If it isn't the only bookworm in town!"

"Have you got any new ones?" Thomas asked, slotting his book onto the shelf he found it in.

"I'm afraid not...but you may reread any of the old ones you like."

"Thank you," Thomas said, smiling as he spotted the familiar green spine with worn edges. "That one's my favourite. It has everything, a –––"

"You may have it if you enjoy it so much," Monsieur Anderson offered.

"I cannot possibly!" Thomas interjected, holding the book out and staring into the green cover.

"No, no, I insist!" Monsieur Anderson said, pushing the book back to Thomas. 

"Thank you, thank you!" Thomas was chanting as he bowed his way out of the door.

"That boy's so peculiar..."

"He looks pale; is he feeling well?"

"His nose always stuck in a book with a dreamy far-off look..."

"A puzzle to the rest of us is Tom."

Thomas raised his book up to shield himself from the harsh whispers and willed himself to pretend not to hear them. He knew he was different from everybody here and that was okay. There's more than this provincial life, they'll see. _Probably, most of them don't even know what "provincial" means_ , Thomas snickered in his head.

He sat on the edge of the fountain, where maidens were washing their clothes and a sheepherder was chasing his dog and directing his sheep with a large, raspy voice. One of the sheep tugged at Thomas' sleeve and he laughed. "Oh, isn't this amazing?" He asked the sheep, not expecting it to answer. "It's my favourite part because...you'll see! Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him till chapter 3!"

"He's very beautiful of a boy, though, moles, pale skin," the shopkeeper commented. "His looks have got no parallel..."

"But behind that fair façade, I'm afraid he's rather odd," one of her triplets claimed, shaking her head disapprovingly. The other two nodded.

"Very different from the rest of us, nothing like the rest of us is Tom!"

* * *

"Look at him, Leavitt," Janson commented. 

"You're such a brilliant hunter, Janson!" Leavitt praised, eying the wild geese they were carrying, shot clean in the eye. "No animal stands a chance against you...nor any girl or boy, for that matter."

"Yes," Janson said, puffing out his chest. If anyone was to comment on it, he looked ridiculous. "And he's the one I want to marry."

"The inventor's son? Thomas Edison?" Leavitt asked.

"Of course, he's the most beautiful, and that means he's the best," Janson claimed confidently.

"Yeah, of course, but –––"

"And don't I deserve the best?" Janson's voice had gone low. Almost like a soft purr, dangerous in quality.

"Yes, yes, of course, but–––"

"Ah..." Janson said, not paying any attention to Leavitt. "Right from the moment when I met him, saw him, I said 'he's so gorgeous' and I fell! Here in town there's only he, who's as beautiful as me! So I'm making plans to woo and marry Tom!" He proclaimed as they strolled into the town square on their horses.

"Look there, he goes, isn't he dreamy?" The triplets squealed. "Monsieur Janson, oh, he's so _cute_! Deep breaths, be still, my heart, I'm hardly breathing! He's such a tall, dark, strong and handsome man!" All three of them then simultaneously swooned and both Janson and Leavitt ignored them. Janson had his heart set on Thomas and he was going to marry the boy.

"Bonjour!"

"Pardon!" Janson yelled, squeezing through the busy crowd to Thomas; the boy was reading a book again.

"Good day!"

"Mais oui!"

"One pound." 

"Excuse me!" Janson called out loudly, pushing past people and shoving his way towards his prize – Thomas, with Leavitt desperately tugging on his trail.

"I'll get that knife."

"This bread, it's stale!"

"Madame's mistaken..."

"There must be more than this provincial life!" Thomas sang again.

"Just watch, I'm going to make Tom my husband!" Janson hissed.

"Look there he goes."

"That boy is strange but special."

"A most peculiar Monsieur..."

"It's a pity and a sin that he doesn't quite fit with us..."

"He really is a funny boy, that Tom!" A group of women exclaimed, sending Thomas looks. He pretends not to notice, again.


	2. A Wonder, Indeed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaston's Proposal (animated & film) - <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fR_GD6TDa4>

Thomas strolled home, one hand clasping his basket with bread and the other holding his book. Monsieur Anderson was really **too** kind.

Janson took this as the _perfect_ chance to flirt. "Morning, Tom, you look _gorgeous_ today!"

Thomas eyed Janson wearily. He's been doing that ever since Thomas knew what courting was. Perhaps before that, too. Janson was never one for formalities or being "proper". He did as he pleased, and strangely, no one seemed to mind him _except_ for Thomas. "Morning to you, too, Monsieur Janson."

Janson waved his hand and winked flirtatiously, which Thomas silently gagged at. "No need for formalities, Sweetheart." He handed Thomas the bundle of colourful flowers. "For you."

"Uhmm...Thank you...And please don't call me 'Sweetheart'" Thomas squirmed uncomfortably and then skipped the next couple of steps to his house, shoving the bundle of flowers back at Janson quickly. Janson followed behind, chasing after the boy. Unfortunately, Janson had tons of practice and he knew how to run. _Unfortunately_. Though to Thomas' credit, he did manage to avoid Janson for a _short_ while. 

"How about I come over for dinner this evening?" He proposed.

"How about...no?" Thomas asked and turned his head away, wincing as if he had just drunk raw lemon juice.

"How did it go?" Leavitt asked eagerly, eyeing the bundle of flowers still in Janson's hands. 

Janson grabbed his collar. "I _will_ have Thomas as my husband, no doubt about that!"

"Yes, yes, of course!" Leavitt said, flailing his short legs desperately.

* * *

"I'm home, Papa!" Thomas yelled, waving the bread at Jorge, his father.

"I can see that, Son," Jorge chuckled heartily, his intense gaze on the trinket on his hand never wavering except for the moment when he looked at his son. He turned his eye and immediately switched to a frustrated scowl.

"Is something wrong?" Thomas asked, pointing at the music box.

"The egg doesn't open," Jorge said. "I think one of the screws got tangled with the wire clog."

Thomas took the music box and hit it against the table. The wooden cover hit the wooden table with a hollow thud and the chick peeked out of the egg. All the elements were painted in careful strokes. Jorge was always so careful with his work, even though he didn't make a lot of money from it. He sold at fairs to the merchant class, mostly. There was not a person in town who didn't know the other, of course, but Jorge Arismendi's name was always said disdainfully and looked down upon, not that Thomas or Jorge cared too much. "There, problem solved."

"Thanks, Tom," Jorge said, smiling at his son. "You really are a miracle."

"It was nothing," Thomas murmured wistfully, thinking of the miracles in the world that he had yet to experience. Thinking of how Jorge used to call Brenda, his mum, a miracle.

"No, it was something, Son," Jorge said, using his large hands to tilt Thomas' head up.

"Papa..." Thomas hesitated. "Do you think I'm odd?"

Jorge scoffed. "My son? Odd? Don't listen to those silly villagers, Tom," He said, firmly. "We just see what they don't."

"More than this provincial life," Thomas echoed.

"Yes."

"When do you have to leave for the fair?" Thomas asked, changing the topic. Jorge went to these fairs monthly, and it was just another one of those things that Thomas was tired of; this same simple routine every day, every month, every year, like clockwork. There was no change to it and Thomas was sick of it, frankly. He had no clue how those people could raise generations in this boring village and call it "quaint and comfortable". Thomas had only lived there for less than a decade, and he was driven crazy. That insane urge to do something new came to him again, like an itch he couldn't scratch, echoing deep in his skull.

"Tomorrow," Jorge said. "I'm all packed," he added, pointing to the bags in the corner.

"Did you make sure to feed Alby and ready his saddle and–––" Alby was their horse. He was a [palomino horse](https://drive.google.com/file/d/14WWbYCsmgEdLZQmZYK_ddvG-HrEGOnVc/view?usp=sharing) with an abnormally dark coat of hair, his mane tossed back and chasing after the wind proudly, just like the rest of him. Alby'd been with them through thick and thin, a loyal and stubborn companion and partner. Jorge and Thomas treated him wonderfully, of course, and it was like they respected him as an equal. He was the only living thing that Thomas loved aside from his papa and his late mother.

"Relax, Mijo," Jorge said, chuckling. "I'm all decked out. You really worry too much about little old me." Nonetheless, he looked sombre. They both knew that Thomas felt like he had to protect his father after he lost his mother, even though it wasn't even _remotely_ close to being his fault. "Do you want anything from the fair?"

Again, like clockwork. Thomas replied the same. "A rose, please," he requested, smiling shyly.

"You always ask for a rose," Jorge comments blandly. He knew why. It was one of the only rare ways that his son could connect with his dead mother. Brenda loved roses; she always had them planted in the garden, in pots around their old house, and she would weave flowers into Thomas' hair and spray on homemade rose perfume. Jorge knew that Brenda was the reason why Thomas loved wearing dresses and they still made rose perfume (not to sell, they wanted it to be a "just family" thing).

"And you always bring it," Thomas counters. 

Jorge sighed, resigned. "Alright, I shall bring you back a rose in a little less than a fortnight."

* * *

Jorge left first thing in the morning. Thomas was awake reading, so thankfully he was awake to bid his father goodbye. "Be careful on the way, Papa!" Thomas cried. "I heard there are wolves in the forest you're crossing, you should –––"

"I know, Mijo," Jorge sighed, exasperated. "I'm bringing two knives with me."

"Okay, thank _goodness_." Thomas let out a stressed breath. "Bye, Papa." He hugged Jorge fiercely and looked on as Jorge mounted Alby and got him into a brisk walk. 

"See you soon, Son!" Jorge called back. Thomas only waved, smiling slightly bitterly.

It was not early enough for most of the villagers to be awake, yet, so Thomas decided that he wanted to keep reading.

There was a knock on the door. Thomas glanced at the clock – it read a quarter past 9. He had missed his shopping time, too intrigued by the book. It didn't really matter, since he had gone yesterday, he still had plenty of vegetables and bread.

No. The thing that was antagonising him was that the only person that would be knocking on the door would be Janson. And Thomas was not in the mood to be "entertained" by Janson. He knew this, why? He had checked every single person that could have been coming. The milkman. No, they had milk delivered every other day, which would be tomorrow. The postman. No, they never got mail. Someone handing the news that Papa had an accident? Thomas checked that one off immediately, trusting Jorge to take care of himself, however fearing all the same.

A cold shiver ran through his spine. It wasn't the latter, was it?

He opened the door, ripping off the band-aid. _Thank goodness_ , Thomas thought. However, there wasn't _too_ much to be thankful for as Janson was still outside his door. 

"Good morning, Tom," Janson said suavely. "I am here to propose again. I see you've rejected my last proposal, but I'm sure you'll change your mind..."

Thomas groaned. "No, Janson, we _can't_ be together," he insisted.

Janson loomed in front of Thomas, backing him against the wall, consequently inviting himself into the house. He put his muddy boots on Thomas' book first, and then he kicked off his shoes revealing socks with a hole on the toe. "Can't you just imagine it...my latest kill roasting by the fire, my perfect husband massaging my feet. We'll have dogs and children, 6 or 7 of them!"

Thomas laughed nervously, shrinking close to the fireplace and covering his nose. He made a note to spray some rose perfume in the room after Janson left. "Dogs or children?"

"Both!" Janson announced grandly. "Do you know who that husband will be, Tom?"

"I can't imagine who..." Thomas stuttered, backing towards the door. His plan was to be cornered against the door and push Janson forcefully out of his door. Hopefully, it works. 

"You, Tom," Janson said. "We'll have plenty of children, too, all strapping young boys like me."

 _Doesn't he know how babies are made_ _?_ Thomas questioned inside his head, deciding not to voice it out, though. The sooner he could get Janson out of his house the better, and he was not wasting time making polite chit-chat to Janson; he already made it clear that they weren't on the best terms with each other. "Janson, I'm not going to marry you!"

"Do you know what happens to beautiful kids like you who aren't married after their fathers die?" Janson questioned. "Think about Katie!" Katie McVoy was the woman living on the streets, begging for food. Katie was less than 10 years older than Thomas and you could tell she was beautiful, once, but she had long traded that beauty for early wrinkles and seemingly permanent bruise-like smudges of shadows underneath her eyelids and weary blue orbs.

"Janson, I won't marry you!" Thomas said and turned the door nob, ducking on cue. Janson went tumbling out and Thomas closed the door swiftly, throwing Janson's boots out while touching as little of the foul-smelling shoe as possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, horrible ending, but I couldn't find a way to cut this so it wasn't too long but wasn't too short either.
> 
> This doesn't really follow the animated or the films since I took pieces from both of them and then mixed up the order of everything. I also made it so they weren't singing all the time, obviously.  
> Next chapter will _hopefully_ be up by Sunday, Monday if I'm lazy. 
> 
> I've also seen fanfics where they tell you what happened to Beauty's father when he went into the forest. I won't be doing that since I don't think it's really relevant, and I also (most likely) won't be doing the scene with Gaston and Maurice.


	3. Here nor There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His Little Wife -  
> (Animated): <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uK8Sk-xd7vw>  
> (Film): <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NIPxPoR6LQ>

"Is he gone?" Thomas asked the chicken. Thomas took the crow it returned as a 'yes'. "Can you imagine it? He asked me to marry him! Me!" Thomas glared at the fountain sullenly. "Husband of that boorish, brainless!" He watched as his words were proven by Janson stepping into the closest pile of mud.

Thomas fetched the bucket of seeds and headed to the chicken coop. "Madame Janson, can't you just see it?" He muttered underneath his breath. "Madame Janson, his obedient little husband!" He kicked the bucket over and apologised to the chickens. "No sir, not me, I guarantee it! I want much more than this provincial life!"

Feeling coupled up in the shed, he ran outside to the field. "I want adventure in the great white somewhere..." He murmured, looking mistily out into the mountains, so close yet oh-so-far away. He felt so small like this, alone in this golden sea and the misty mountains. "I want it more than I can tell." That was true. Thomas had thought that he could suppress his thrill of venturing into the unknown, but apparently not.

"And for once it might be grand," he murmured, peering over the mountains as if in a trance. "To have someone...understand..." He plucked a dandelion from the plain. It represented him, really. Still. Unmoving. Until the wind comes and picks it up, or someone plucks it to blow. When that happens, the dandelion is free, and so was Thomas when it happened. "I want so much more than they've got planned..."

* * *

After a while of soaking in the sunshine, it was afternoon and Thomas had decided to make himself some late lunch. He had barely finished half of it until...

"Alby! What's wrong? Where's Papa?" Thomas demanded, his raised voice doing nothing to soothe the bucking horse. "Take me to him." And with that, Thomas threw on his favourite hood and boots and mounted Alby. 

They rode through a stretch of forest, the fog practically curling around the boy on the great horse. The forest loomed above them, almost as if the trees were stalking him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Suddenly, Alby paused, and it took Thomas a while to notice that they were in front of a gate that looked centuries old. Scratch that. The forest was nothing compared to this gate. This gate gave off the impression of wanting to eat whomever that touches it alive. "Woah..." Thomas breathed, craning his neck to look at the ominous bushes and unkempt garden beyond it. He pulled at his courage and stepped inside.

After a bit of examination (he couldn't take too long on it since he still had to rescue his father), he drew to the conclusion that there was obviously someone still living here as the gardens were kept professionally. The only place with imperfection was the rose bush. It seemed attended by someone that wasn't a professional. Noted.

"Hello?" Thomas whispered once he stepped into the castle, though his voice sounded more like a sharp cry in the silent darkness of the hall. "Is anyone here? I'm here for my father!"

Somewhere in the background, he thought he heard "What a pretty girl!" but he ignored it. There was no one but him. No one could have spoken.

"Papa?" Thomas called, following the stairway instinctively. He wound up at a dark place with candles and...was that a dungeon? 

"Tom, you must get out of here!" Jorge's panicked voice shook him. He turned towards his right to see his father's tanned hand gripping the bars, making his knuckles white. "There is a deadly beast in here, you must go! Leave me!" Jorge's waxy appearance in the candlelight only made Thomas catch on to his grey hairs faster. 

"I won't leave you, Papa," Thomas replied stubbornly, searching for the keyhole. "Who has done this to you?" He demanded, wincing when Jorge landed into a coughing fit.

"He's coming–––no!" Jorge's hand went up to point at something behind Thomas. His paler-than-normal finger was quivering. 

Thomas, condemned to his fate, turned around and stared into the darkness. The only thing he saw was a shadow and a claw, but that was enough to know that this beast was truly _terrifying_.

"What are you bloody doing here?" A gruff voice demanded. 

"Who are you?" Thomas returned. He was proud that his voice didn't break, though it trembled.

"I am the master of this castle!" The voice declared. 

"I'm here for my father," Thomas said. "Please, let him go! Can't you see he's sick?"

"He's a thief!" The monster claimed. "He stole a rose from me!"

Thomas flinched. If he did...this was all his fault. "No, please! He stole it for me! It's my fault – take me instead."

"You?" The beast roared. "What could you possibly–––"

"Come out into the light," Thomas demanded suddenly, his mind already made up. When the beast didn't move, he yelled "NOW!"

And with that, a sight to behold, my dear readers, came out into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter came 2 days later than expected! I started school (back from October break) and I'm a lot busier now.


	4. "The Boy"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter came a bit later than usual! I was thinking about the plotline again and I've realised that I _might_ have neglected to plan out a storyline when I started writing this...but to be fair, I figured that it would be fine since I'm mostly going along with Beauty and the Beast's timeline. Well, apparently, it's harder than it looks to combine the films and animation with a whole different fandom and to add the appropriate character substitutions and all of that (I won't bore you with the details).
> 
> A piece of advice for all of you writers who want to write fairytale AUs – don't start planning when you're in the middle of a piece. Frankly, I think it must be annoying for the readers (which in this case, is you guys – I assume you're annoyed, at least, I would be) and it was very irresponsible of me to do so. You may think it'll be easy since you're going with a _fairytale AU_ , but it's not. It wasn't for me, and it won't be for many other people (though you're lucky if it's easy for you :).  
> Seriously, trust me; it's so much easier if you get your act together and make a plan before you start something, and that applies to most situations as well. Life long lesson right here, guys...

The boy (I recall the old man called him Thomas?)'s mouth gaped, though he did not gasp. He understood. How could anyone _not_ gasp at the monstrosity that was him? 

"The-The r-rose," the boy - Thomas - stammered, seemingly losing his voice. "It's my fault. I asked for it." The liquid amber eyes glanced defiantly at him and his heart leapt to his throat.

For the first time, Newt finally got a sharp glimpse of the boy. He had feminine features: warm, honey eyes that sparkled with mischief; long, fanning eyelashes that curved onto the flushed apples of his cheekbones; exquisite, milky skin dotted with the most fragile of beauty marks; tousled, chocolate brown hair; perfect, plump, cupid brow lips that wobbled – it was tempting to bite into the roseate swell of the juicy flesh; the inquisitive fire of his stance, the ridged edges of his collarbones gleaming as he knelt, glancing at Newt with little fear.

Never had someone been so elegant as to wax poetry about them, but Thomas merited it. He was an exquisite, delicate beauty, indeed.

"If-If I stayed here instead of Papa, would you let him go?" Thomas pleaded, his golden eyes enlarging more. An iridescent tear slipped out of his fluttering lids. "Please?"

"Tom, no!" The old man screeched, his voice resounding in the dungeon. "I am old whereas you still have your whole life left."

Thomas ignored him. "Yes," Newt agreed easily, fixing his frozen face into the usual mask of hostility and indifference. The questioning doe-like eyes peered at Newt again from under his eyelashes, and although Newt knew he could not read my eloquence, he felt as if Thomas was staring into his very soul, unveiled for all to see. The deep, penetrating eyes from the eyes on fire lit a fuse in him, but it was getting out of hand. Newt was no longer in control of that fire.

Vaguely, behind him, he was aware of Minho waving one of his candles on the ledge. "That boy could be _the_ one!" He whispered to Gally, who grunted in response.

It was not only Newt who heard it, though, as Thomas turned his eyes to the shelf as well. Minho went still, but he would find out anyway. "What-What was that?" Thomas asked regardless.

Newt scowled, my facial muscles relaxing into their now-usual stance. He yanked the door of the cell roughly, pulling the man out by his shirt. "Get in."

Thomas' lower lip quivered even more, and he looked like he was about to cry. "But...You didn't let me say goodbye," Thomas murmured mechanically. "Are you really that heartless?" He asked, rhetorically, and Newt felt myself shatter even more at the pure sorrow in his voice. 

He groaned. "1 minute. Once this door closes, it will not open again." He returned the man, dumping him unceremoniously onto the floor. "1 minute," Newt repeated again.

As void of emotion and care as Newt now was, he turned around to give the son and father pair some privacy. They would not be seeing each other in a long time.

"He could be the one," Minho whispered again into the darkness, masked from the pair by the chatters of reassurances and tears. "You have to hope, Newt."

He frowned at Minho. "It would never work," Newt grunted, but left it at that.

One minute was up. "Time is up," Newt growled, pulling the man by his shirt again. 

"No, Tom, you can't go!" He yelled desperately, clutching at the bars. "I won't let you. I'll stay, instead."

Thomas' eyes welled with tears. "B-Bye, Papa," he stuttered, and before Newt could blink, he stuck out his foot and landed the man directly onto his shin. "I'm sorry!" He added, locking the dungeon door on himself. 

The heartbreaking (even for him) wails of both son and father echoed in the castle.

* * *

Thomas glanced to his cell door tearily, blinking back more. Now was not the time to cry. He could do that once the beast has withdrawn. 

"Come out," the beast, who had just reaped away his father out snarled, tugging on the door needlessly hard. "Now."

"I thought 'once this door closes, it will not open again'?" Thomas groused, simply incapable of stopping himself. It was _presumably_ going to get him a sentence here and the Beast would change his mind about permitting Thomas out, but hey, what's in the past is in the past...

"Do you want to stay here, then?" The beast, whose name Thomas still hadn't learnt, asked coarsely.

Thomas swallowed his (already wounded) pride. "No."

"Then, come on," the beast said, hauling Thomas up to his feet with a rigid pull. Thomas stumbled up ungracefully, his ineptitude quickly catching up with himself. Before he knew it, he was tripping over his own cloak, scrambling to get up onto his hands and knees. Thomas thought he heard a chortle from somewhere above him, but it must have been tiredness catching up to him, again. The only other person here was Beast and he was definitely not the one who chuckled.

"What should I call you?" Thomas asked once he got up. 

The beast didn't bother turning around from the stone foyers. "Why should I tell you?" He (Thomas could tell it was a he) demanded gruffly.

"So, ya know, I have something to call you that's not 'the Beast' or 'Master of This Castle'?" Thomas retorted, trying to blink back his tears that were suddenly racing in at the reminder that he was trapped here. Permanently. "You must not like the first one..." he murmured thoughtfully, levelling his eyes on the Beast's posterior. 

"Call me Newt," the Beast – Newt, Thomas corrected himself – mumbled, his voice sinking another octave. "Not that we'll be talking much," he added hastily. Never mind, then...

"Gee, that's a nice attitude," Thomas muttered, groaning at his situation.

"Shut up," Newt deadpanned, giving him a fierce look with his glowing yellow eyes. 

Thomas gulped. "Shutting up, now..." He might not be the smartest Shank around, but he wanted to live beyond 16, thank you very much.

"Here is your room," Newt answered stiffly. "You are to stay here. Do not go to the West Wing."

"What's in the West Wing?" Thomas demanded, biting down on his tongue as soon as he opened his mouth. 

"None of your business," Newt uttered. He decided not to reply.

******

Once Thomas got to his room, he immediately crumpled onto the bed, not taking note of his surroundings. "Why?" He wailed. "Why me?"

"Honey, I'm sorry," a mellow voice drifted.

Thomas startled. "Who's there?" He didn't see any people. Who had spoken?

"It is I, Teresa," the same voice said again. "The _wardrobe_ ," Teresa, apparently, added, groaned disdainfully.

Thomas snapped his head towards the large closet in the corner of the room. "You talk?" He said, his mouth open wide. Though, considering the events of today, he shouldn't really be surprised that _of course_ , there was a _talking closet_ in his room.

"Many of us do," Teresa said, or more alike to singing. Her voice had a harmonic quality to it as if whispered from the depths of the ocean but risen from the tides.

Thomas' knees buckled from underneath him, and he fell onto the carpet. "W-Wha –––" 

_What was going on? Where was he? There was something about a beast? A Newt? A talking piece of furniture? I-I c-can't...breathe!_

"Breathe, sweetheart," someone was whispering, their voice vociferous in the foggy bleakness of Thomas' mind. "How old are you?"

Thomas tilted his head in bewilderment when he heard the inquisition, but he answered it, nonetheless. "I-I'm...16."

"You're doing great, Darling," the same voice replied, and Thomas breathing started to become distinct. "What's your full title?"

"Thomas...Thomas Edison," Thomas panted, his heart palpitating, clutching at his head. 

"Very good..." Thomas could feel his vision returning and that was the last thing he remembered before stumbling to the bed and collapsing.

* * *

The Beast himself, meanwhile, was walking to the West Wing. The one he told the boy not to go to.

"Newt, just think about it!" Minho's voice, let loose, was grumbling.

"For once, I agree with this Slinthead," Gally called, jabbing his "thumbs" at Minho. "He might be the one."

"Hey!" Minho's voice cut through the silence. "Who are you calling a 'Slinthead', you egoistic Shuck-face?" Both of his candles were waving around all over the place, and it was giving Newt a migraine. Minho was always energetic and turbulent, and that (seemingly) hadn't evolved.

"Shut up, both of you!" Newt's shout rumbled through the entire wing. Both fell deathly silent right away. "I wish to be alone. Please leave."

Both obeyed, but Minho not before casting a sad look behind him at his best friend. "Consider it, Newt. He might be the one."

To be honest, Newt _had_ thought of it (a lot) but he knew it could not happen. Why would the adorable little boy want anything to do with _him_ , a hideous _beast_? Perhaps, Thomas even had a significant other at home that he had to leave behind because of Newt. Someone as beautiful as Thomas would certainly have suitors lined up around the block.

*****

"Show me the boy," Newt commanded. 

The mirror obeyed, as always, and he found himself facing at a brunette boy whose puffy, red-rimmed amber eyes were staring listlessly into the ceiling while Teresa tried her best to comfort him, but Newt could tell it just wasn't _enough_. "Honey, he's really not that bad," she was saying. "Newt's a great person, honestly, it's just that he –––"

"Kidnapped me and took me away from my only family left?" Thomas spat out. Newt recoiled.

_Of course. Why would someone as perfect as Tommy love...a beast?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you can tell I spent a lot of time trying to make this special...I spent so much time on Grammarly for this, lol.  
> I'm not sure if I should have stuck with my old schedule, but here's the new one:
> 
>  **Chapter 5:** Saturday 28/11/2020  
>  **Chapter 6:** Monday 30/11/2020  
>  **Chapter 7:** Wednesday 2/12/2020  
>  **Chapter 8:** Saturday 5/12/2020  
>  **Chapter 9:** Monday 7/12/2020  
>  **Chapter 10/Epilogue:** Wednesday 9/12/2020
> 
> If everything goes according to plan...Well, let's just say it means I can start some new fics soon and you guys can start reading the _finished_ story sooner rather than later...
> 
> Thanks for sticking around on this hazardous journey!


	5. Frustrations and Disbelief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rapid switch of perspectives – you should be able to guess whose it is by " _Name_ thought" cues.

Minho was tired of Newt's whining. Sure, the boy (Thomas, was it?) was cute, but he was making a big deal out of nothing. Minho was usually very sensitive to his best friend's situation, but his behaviour was just pushing it and overly dramatic.

"Newt, please, just –––"

"I'm going to dinner, have Ava deliver dinner to Thomas."

Minho faked heartbreak. "No 'please'? You wound me!"

Newt rolled his eyes. Sometimes Minho thought that if it wasn't for him, Newt would be acting like a complete animal, with no human emotion except for hopelessness and savagery. There was no saying – if Newt didn't get his klunk together, he would actually become a beast instead of simply looking like one. In Minho's opinion, Thomas seemed the type to care not for looks and only for the person themself, and could be a potential future princess. Or prince. Or whatever. 

"Deal with it, bugger."

"But seriously, Newt," Gally interjected. "I think you should invite Thomas to dine with you."

Newt groaned. "Not you too, Gally! He literally told Teresa he hates me!"

"That's _probably_ since you locked his father in a cell and forced him to stay for eternity in exchange for his father's freedom. Give it some rest, Newt. How would you feel if –––" Newt cut him off at "how would you feel".

"Gally, stop giving me the empathy klunk," Newt muttered. "You! Giving _me_ empathy klunk!" It was well known that Newt and Gally used to be enemies. Yes, Gally couldn't attempt anything since Newt was the prince and shucking with him would mean punishment, but he had his ways of getting back at Newt and vice versa. After the spell, there was no denying that Gally...was starting to care. Sure, some suspected that it was mostly having to do with the fact that without Newt, Gally would be stuck as an antique clock forever.

So, Minho took matters into his own hands. "Newt, he might actually _like_ you if you just meet him!"

Newt buckled under the pressure. "Fine."

******

Newt was slouched at the head of the table, his fists on the sides and a mess in general. "Where is he! He –––"

"Newton," Ava said sharply. "You're not going to meet the poor boy with this attitude. My son _will_ be free of this curse, and if he's one step closer when you cooperate with the boy... Be a gentleman!"

Newt groaned. "How do I do that?"

It was Minho's turn to groan inside his head. What happened to the etiquette lessons the late queen had forced him to take? "Back straight, head up, get Gally to fix your hair, anything?" Gally; Chuck, Ava's son who's a teacup; Jeff, who's a dinner plate; Harriet, who's a Piano; and Sonya, who's a feather duster all nodded vigorously. "Woo him!" Minho added. "He has to like you, remember?"

"How am I supposed to woo him?" Newt grumbled. 

"Give him compliments!" Sonya yelled from the other side of the room.

"Kiss his hands," Ava gave her input. "Make him blush."

"Ugh!" Newt threw his hands (or rather, paws) up into the air. "Okay..." Newt did his best to put on a smile, but in Minho's opinion, it looked more like Newt was trying to eat him. 

"A _genuine_ smile?" Evidently, Ava thought the same. "And practice your compliments!"

Newt sighed. Minho thought it was rather dumb; he should stop being so grumpy and give the boy a chance. Maybe, just _maybe_ , if he did, then the boy will like him. Perhaps they could get his happily ever after...

* * *

Against his wishes, he was dolled up for Thomas to oblige, dressed in all his regalia. Or, at least, that's what Minho and Gally told him. He knew he looked a fright, courtesy of the mirror near the end of the hall, but he didn't say anything. Newt didn't think this was the _most_ pragmatic of all situations (since he _could_ dine alone, still), but since he didn't think witches were real either, he's not really in a position to refute their claims.

"Will you stop fussing with the sleeves?" Ava yelled, her patience obviously reaching a limit. If there was anything Newt knew, it was to not infuriate Ava. Even back when Ava was a tutor and a servant (that was, before the curse), Newt was always intimidated by her when she told him to do his advanced sums. Besides, she had his parents wrapped around her pinky; Newt couldn't really _do_ anything to complain...

"Fine, fine," Newt grumbled. "Gally, can you just...go already?"

Gally scurried away quickly, but not before throwing one final "you can do this!" look over his shoulder. 

_I can't_ , Newt thought. _I can't and I'm letting all of you down. This curse is all because of me. What would Mother and Father think of me?_

******

"Where is he!" Newt roared at Gally, who cowered. "Why isn't he here?" He paced around the dining room, ignoring the nervous looks the younger ones sent each other and ignoring Gally's pitiful stammerings, not allowing him a moment of speech.

"Newt!" Ava reprimanded sternly. "Let him speak if you are asking a question!"

"He said he wouldn't come!" Gally screamed quickly, snuffing the room into silence. "He said he wasn't hungry!"

"Come on," Newt muttered darkly to Gally. "He'd better be hungry when I get there..."

* * *

Gally followed on his (now short) legs, and he could see Minho and the others (who could move) were behind. Gally thought this was the worst way to approach things, and if he could, he would've been sweating already. Newt was definitely going to make Thomas afraid of staying here. 

Originally, Gally was so sure that the boy would come to no harm in this castle, but now, he's not so certain. This is a battle for Newt's sanity, and no one knew who would win; the beast or the man. Or maybe it was the beast _of_ the man – no one could be sure. Gally just wished things could be back to "normal", if he knew even what that was, anymore.

No, there hadn't been a "normal" for a long time, ever since the late King and Queen. The villages have slipped from the regency's grasp, Newt inherited the throne at the age of 16, and then everything went chaos. Whether that had to do with Newt's past ego or the instability of the kingdom, he didn't know (as much as he boasted, he was still just a servant), but everything went to chaos and the kingdom was in ruins. They had heard from the north and the far south that the towns themselves were okay; they could sustain themselves for a long time beyond.

It was frankly amazing that the villagers had managed to plough their own way through this mess, but then again, the kingdom was doomed anyway. Gally truly believed that Newt could find his true love, but with the way he'd been treating Thomas, it wasn't very possible.

"Why weren't you down to dinner!" Newt roared furiously at the door after raising his fist to pound on the wood fiercely. Minho, having caught up with Gally and Newt, winced. Sonya followed shortly behind, shaking her head dismissively at Newt – similar to Ava's reaction.

There were a jolt and a panicked shriek that followed a thud. "I'm not hungry!" Thomas yelled back at Newt, his voice sounding shaky.

"Newt!" Ava hissed. "You're scaring him!" Thomas wasn't the only one Newt was scaring, Gally noted. Chuck was huddled in his mama (as much as he could as a teacup) and Ava looked mutinous. "You have to be _polite_! Suave! This is certainly not your idea of a compliment, is it?" Ava scared him, and he was sure Newt was the same. No wonder why Ava had everyone under her pinky – she was proud like a queen.

Newt cleared his throat drily. "Could you come to dinner with me?"

"Ahem," Minho coughed. "We say 'please' in this house..."

" _Please_ ," Newt gritted out through his teeth, his voice distorted.

Thomas seemed to have caught that and their chatters, supposedly, since he released a snort of indignation. "I'm not hungry!"

"YOU WILL COME OUT NOW OR I'LL BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN!" Newt bellowed, his voice echoing in the hallways. Everyone winced again.

"Go ahead! It's not my door!" Thomas screamed back shrilly, his voice cracking into loud sniffles and a sob. "It's not like I have a choice, do I?" He added bitterly.

Gally figured it was time to do his portion. "Newt, that boy lost his father and liberty in one day! You should give him some decision."

"I don't think this is the way to win his affections," Sonya added. Her tone implied that she would rather be filling her nails (if she still had them, that is) rather than listening to Newt fail miserably. Equivalent to Sonya, Gally would rather be doing the identical, if not only he had not the slightest clue _how_ to properly file his nails (and there was always the usual "we don't have nails anymore" klunk...great).

Newt sighed. This wasn't going well, obviously (not that Gally expected for it to go well). "Are you going to come out and eat with me, then?" Gally, Minho, Sonya, Chuck, and Ava all eyed each other disbelievingly. _Was Newt serious?_ _Did he_ actually _think Thomas would come when he threatened to knock down his door 30 seconds ago?_

"No!" Thomas' tone was as disbelieving as their expression exchanges. "Are you kidding me?"

"IF HE DOESN'T EAT WITH ME, HE DOESN'T EAT AT ALL!" Newt howled. The astounded looks of the servants mirrored each other – was Newt seriously doing this?

The tumultuous rackets of the boy sobbing wetly fragmented Gally's anticipations into bits. So far, this wasn't working very well. They needed a miracle.


	6. A Fair Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be Our Guest -   
> Animated: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afzmwAKUppU&ab_channel=disneysongsnet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afzmwAKUppU&ab_channel=disneysongsnet)  
> Film: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KedA_rkor0s&ab_channel=MichelleHernandez](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KedA_rkor0s&ab_channel=MichelleHernandez)

Thomas, after who knows how long later, peered up from the pillow his face was smushed in beforehand.

"I'm sorry," Teresa said as soon as she saw his teary face. She seemed genuinely distressed about him being upset, his puffy eyes and sniffles. "I truly atone for him. Newt is...rather complex...He gets into these great big mood swings, you see..."

Thomas snorted under his breath. "You shouldn't apologise for him. He should be apologising to _you_. Mood swings aren't excuses for his behaviour." Who did this beast think he was? Locking people in his dungeons, forcing them to dine with him, while they suffer through the longing for home. Or maybe that was just him. Thomas figured it was time to divert to a different topic. It didn't do him good to speak ill of his new host (some host he was). "What happened here? Why can you all –––"

"Talk?" Teresa completed for him. Thomas jumped back when the doors of the wardrobe opened. "I –––"

She was just about to stammer out something when there was timid a knock on the door. Thomas gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. "I SAID _NO_!" He shrieked. He hoped whoever that was on the other side of the door was startled. 

Startled they were, indeed. "Uh...sweetheart?" An older woman, one with a melodious, deep voice called. "It's not Newt, can you open the door, please?"

Teresa's head perked up at the voice. "It's Chancellor Paige, you should open the door."

Thomas listened to her, and before he could register anything, a tray with a teapot and cup neatly balanced on it was trailing in. "I'm sorry about just now," the older woman – no, "Chancellor Paige", who Thomas identified to be the teacup, said. Surprisingly, he was no longer shocked at the utilities and furniture that could talk. As regarding her apology, Thomas said nothing, but he hoped he could communicate with his eyes he was sorry, too. He never meant to cause them trouble with who seemed to be their master.

"Hey there!" the small teacup cried, wiggling from side to side. Thomas noticed the small flaw on the otherwise perfect floral-etched cup – a small chip near the handle. He could also see eyes and a small mouth, and what seemed to be a rosy tint to the kid's cheeks. From the sound of his voice, he couldn't have been more than 12. "You're pretty!"

"Chuck," Chancellor Paige reprimanded. "Settle down." She tipped her nozzle to the boy (Chuck, she called him) and he giggled when the hot stream of water hit the insides of the porcelain. A transparent drop splayed out of the chip and landed on Thomas. "Mind your manners, please. Introduce yourself."

From first glance, Chancellor Paige (he still didn't know her first name...or was 'Paige' her first name?) was not someone to be crossed. She was obviously a stern woman, and if her melodious, toned, and slightly raspy voice was anything to go by, she was probably in her 40s-50s. "I'm Chuck Paige!" Chuck grinned, his rosy cheeks tinting even brighter. If Thomas had to guess, he'd say Chuck was shy.

"Take a drink, Hon," Chancellor Paige (who's signature Thomas knew was not Paige) said, raising her nozzle slightly towards Chuck's direction.

Thomas picked up Chuck carefully, worried he'd hurt the kid. Porcelain was fragile, after all. Chuck giggled. "It tickles!"

"I'm Ava Paige," the woman continued. "Chuck here is my son."

"I'm Minho and this shuck-face here is Gally." Thomas jumped back; he hadn't noticed the candle holder and clock that were standing close to his feet.

"Who are you calling a shuck-face, shuck-face?" The one called Gally taunted. "You're the shuck-face!"

"What's a 'shuck-face'?" Thomas asked quickly, directing the attention of the fighting mantlepieces to him. It was rather comical: a gold ornament clock and a bronze, rusted torch holder fighting, waving their appendages around madly. He was very worried that one of the still-burning candlesticks on Minho's (supposed) "arm" was going to catch on fire.

"A shuck-face is what Minho is!" The one who called himself Gally yelled furiously, his cheeks border lining on a botchy red.

"Ah...ignore him," Minho smirked cheekily, and Thomas smiled back shyly in response. "We made up the term stuck as furniture and common items. A shuck-face is an insulting term to someone, but we usually use it as a joke. A _joke_ , Gally."

Gally's dangerously purple shade gradually faded to metallic gold along with the rest of his body. "Shut up, Minho!"

"Now, now, boys?" Ava purred dangerously. "Let's be polite to each other, shall we?" She gave Thomas a warm smile. "They're always like that, bickering back and forth." She smiled fondly. Thomas knew she was referring to the two boys, who both had the telltale deep voice from after puberty, but still acted like kids. It made him wonder: how old were these people, these poor souls that were stuck as items because of the selfish beast?

"Anyway..." Minho whistled, not paying Gally the slightest. "Aren't you hungry? You said you weren't, but..."

"I am _terribly_ hungry," Thomas admitted. Even his own voice sounded tiny to himself. "But...I didn't want to dine with _him_."

Gally snorted, and Thomas thought he could see a smudge of a kind person beneath his tough exterior. "Understandable. The rest of use told him to be polite but he didn't listen. I seem to remember him promising to make you blush and then threatening to smash your door down. Did you blush?" The feather duster in the corner, whom Thomas had just noticed, snickered loudly. The rest followed, and although Ava reproached them, her heart didn't seem in it.

"I didn't," Thomas played along. "Teresa can prove it."

"He was flushed," Teresa pitched in. "But I suspect that was from anger and sadness, not embarrassment or love."

"Oooh, I _love_ being threatened!" Thomas rolled his eyes, and everyone laughed along heartily. His heart ached. Was this how the beast – Newt, used to be like? 

"I'm Sonya," the colourful feather duster said, blinking at the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. "I was wondering if you want to go eat something since you're hungry? We have _tonnes_ of food..."

"I-I'm not s-sure," Thomas stammered. This had to be a trick...wasn't it? "Didn't Newt say I couldn't eat?"

Minho and Gally both scoffed in sync. Even the upright Ava snickered, and Chuck scrunched up his nose. Did he miss something? "Don't worry about Newt," Sonya said, letting out a snicker. "He's all bark and no bite. He wouldn't _actually_ starve you to death. Besides, you're our guest, not our prisoner!"

"Well, I _am_ a prisoner," Thomas barked, but he followed her out the open doorway without complaint.

"Wait!" Teresa called after him. "You have to be appropriately dressed!"

Thomas shrugged. No one would be watching him except for these people, and they had already seen him debauched. What does it matter? "Why? Who cares?"

"I do!" Teresa cried, and Thomas had a distinct recognition of a three-year-old him staring up at his mum defiantly. "You have to look pretty to go to dinner!"

"Not that he's not already pretty," Minho said. "I'm just telling the truth, man. I'm not really interested but anyone with eyes would say the same; you are somebody blessed with an aesthetically pleasing face, okay?" He clarified after Thomas shot him an incredulous look.

Whether or not Thomas agreed was not a matter, as everyone else seemed to be in agreement, and before he knew it, he was being pushed by Minho and Gally to Teresa's direction. "Come in!" Teresa yelled directly into his ear, making him wince. "I'll give you a makeover!"

He stepped into the wardrobe body obediently, not that there was anything else he could do. "Hmmm...we were expecting a girl so I have mostly dresses here, but I could tailor some into suits if you –––" Thomas thought about it. Could he wear a dress? It's been so long...the only thing he wore similar to a dress after his mum passed was a nightgown.

"Oh, actually..." He trailed off. "I'd like a dress, please, but no ball gowns."

"Huh," Teresa mused. "Your body frame is about the same as a girl's and I think you could pull off a dress very neatly..." Everything in the wardrobe started to fly around quickly, making Thomas head spin as his eyes tried to keep up with the rapidly shifting items inside the closet.

"Try this one?" Teresa implored, and [a violet dress](https://drive.google.com/file/d/13qg8YeiAXo6jpPX9ItrDhlbg-xh-UiB2/view?usp=sharing) landed in front of him. It was a deep violet, and the belt twinkled with a ring of star-like diamonds, or so it seemed. the veil around Thomas' waist reached to his knee and the skirt portion of the dress flared out dramatically around the leg area. Thomas stripped of his cotton wear and slipped on the dress. It had a silky feel around his skin, and the feeling of the fabric around his hips was perfect.

"You look beautiful!" Teresa gushed.

Thomas looked at his shoulders and groaned. "You put me in a _strapless_ top?" 

Teresa opted to ignore him.

* * *

"I'm telling you, shank," Minho reassured the boy again. "You look brilliant."

"Are you sure?" He stuttered. "I haven't worn a dress s-since I...I was 10." Minho didn't push on the subject; Thomas would part with it when he deemed it safe to.

"Yes!" Gally huffed and panted as he sprinted (as fast as he could as a clock, that was) down the stone stairs. Evidently, he was also tired of Thomas' whining.

"Okay, fine!" Thomas agreed, putting his hands up. "No need to yell!"

******

"Because you are our guest..." Minho began, his candles raised high. 

"The castle's staff presents you with...YOUR DINNER!"

******

"That...was...AWESOME!" Thomas declared, flopping back onto his chair lazily. "Y'all are _amazing_ cooks!"

"It was all Sonya and Chancellor Paige," Gally said honestly. "We just danced around and annoyed them."

"Please, do pay my thanks to Ava and Sonya," Thomas smiled. The violet fabric of his gown was starting to slip off his shoulders, revealing more than one mole. If Newt was here, Minho reckoned he'd be swooning. Or as capable of swooning as Newt is, anyway.

* * *

Thomas was climbing up the stairs. Specifically, the stairs to the West Wing. Yes, "the West Wing" as in the one Newt told him not to visit. Ava had told him to go to bed and the others retired to their respective room, trusting Thomas to see himself back to his room without a hitch. They may have undermined his underlying curiosity, though. He was going to get behind the secrets and magic of this eerie castle.

He reached the telltale arch of a wing and he peeked inside cautiously, treading his steps softly as to not arouse anyone who may be around, specifically the Beast. Thomas walked around, marvelling at the paintings and the beautiful, intricate carvings on the wall deciphering a maiden doing her washing. Thomas ran his fingers through the dark stone lit up by moonlight, and traced over the face of the woman.

She looked happy.

He followed the design until it ended, and it led him to a king-size bed with unmade covers. Thomas assumed that was where Newt slept. Beside the bed, there stood a glowing rose in a glass case. The rose had all but 5 petals fallen, the rest shrivelled up at the bottom of the casing. He leaned forward, as if entranced, to touch the casing that surrounded the blood-red rose which glowed like the sun, the moon, and all the stars together.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" A furious shout from behind him caused him to almost knock over the container. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU COULD HAVE DONE?"

"No," Thomas cried, having the urge to curl up into a small ball and hide from the beast's scratchy roar. "I-I'm s-sorry."

"GET OUT!" He demanded furiously, and Thomas, with the energy pent up in his legs, ran.

He sprinted down the nearest pathway and didn't look back.


	7. In a Different World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read this again a while after I posted it and I realised that I forgot to add Alby in.  
> Let's just _say_ Thomas was too desperate and forgot about Alby, shall we?

Shucking _great_. He chased Thomas away, and now he's in the middle of nowhere, possibly being torn apart by wolves. What was he thinking? In Newt's defence, he had been worried about the rose since it was his only link to possibly being human again, but Thomas might have been...no, Newt shudders to think of the consequences. The witch knows. Katie McVoy hadn't been discrete when she cast the spell – she made the terms clear and concise, slightly alike how his arithmetic teacher always told him to. 

Newt remembers those days, but they seemed light-years away as if it had been a different person who lived like that, in a different world. Surely Newt hadn't always been like that.

Right. Thomas needed saving. Damsel in distress, remember those jostling days, Prince Newton?

******

Newt sprinted into the woods that have surrounded his home with seldom thought about his self-preservation. It was rarely that he forgot about his life, as it was usually about him. The court was based around him, the prince ripe for manhood. The servants were based around him, getting him to face his beastly appearance, paying not as much attention to themselves as they should've. Newt was selfish; he barely remembered that it wasn't just him suffering silently from this curse, that there were people depending on him as well. People that were turned into everyday items because he had to be taught a lesson. All his fault, just like Thomas had proclaimed. Or not to him, at least, but Newt knew he had.

If it wasn't for them, Newt would have condemned himself to his fate. He could stay this way, die a slow death, as long as if it was only him. Him and _only_ him.

He raced through the undergrowth, his clothes catching on an odd branch occasionally. It was merely to comment that he hadn't paused to think once, since he was usually the one to pause and think about everything. Well, not _everything_ , apparently. Not when he turned Katie McVoy away. Not when he insulted her. Not when he caused his own demise and evidently, turned himself to this hideous beast. Katie only helped with the transformation.

Many a year ago, Newt was still carefree. Running through these same woods in his day time, sparring with the trusted knights who served the crown. That was the past. This time, he was on his own, rescuing a boy who was in distress. Nothing that wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for him.

He got to the clearing, and that's where he heard the growls of savage beasts and a helpless scream that ripped through the equally helpless boy.

Newt released a growl of his own, deep and equally unwavering. He crept towards the direction of the vicious hounds, though there was no point; no doubt they had already smelt and heard him from a kilometre away. After all, he heard them too.

When he got to his destination, he probably should have jumped into the fray, but he was too busy eyeing Thomas' violet gown and how it suited the lean boy somewhat, his collarbones standing out brightly in the dim moonlight. Newt blinked back to reality.

The one at the head narrowed its eyes at him, and though he saw that Thomas had held them back as much as possible, he was slowly losing strength, and his jabs with the gnarled stick were becoming flimsy, weak. Newt, without further ado, leapt at the beast roughly, tackling it to the ground. It growled, and the others got the cue, their heads snapping up in unison and each scrambling to save their evident leader.

Newt roared, his voice flitting and disappearing over the trees. The wolves seemed momentarily startled, though they snapped back to action quickly. Newt channelled his muscles, and in a swift move, ripped the wolves off his stomach, one on each hand. The rest of the wolves fought valiantly, though to say they stood no chance against Newt, despite it being one versus a pack. That's not to say Newt got off with no injuries.

Once the last wolf had scampered away after it's pack, Newt fell to his knees dizzily, his head spinning. Why was the ground so close to his nose?

What happened and why did his arm hurt so much? Why was his leg wet and sticky?

"Oh, gosh!" Thomas breathed. "You're bleeding!" 

No kidding, Newt wanted to say, but he couldn't say it. Everything was spinning, spinning...

"No!" Thomas' voice was closer now, and Newt could feel the puffs of air close to his cheek. "You can't faint on me now! I won't be able to carry you back!"

Leave me, Newt thought, but he couldn't say it. He would be glad, soon, that he couldn't say it.

Newt realised that Thomas was correct: he wouldn't be able to carry Newt back, and they'd both be doomed. He couldn't die, and neither could Thomas. He was the king on the chessboard, and Thomas was the queen. Neither could survive without the other, and they couldn't die together. In their chessboard, no one on their team could die. Only thy enemies defeated.

Newt raised himself to his knees, slowly, and the feeling was starting to return to his bones. Along that came the sting of the cuts, the bruises, and the bite marks. If Newt knew how things would turn out from that encounter, he would let it happen a hundred times over, both for the others and for himself. Thee fortune went bold.

Thomas reached out a pale hand to assist him, and he was temporarily dazed and completely transfixed by the pale skin dotted with small moles and a bigger one on the side of the knuckle. Newt could swear that it was practically glowing, and he had a sudden temptation to run his coarser hands over the smooth as a baby's bottom skin. He imagined how Thomas' hands would feel if they gripped his fur, pushing Newt's head close to his for a kiss, and ––– no. 

"Let's go," Newt hissed, gripping at the pale, bony digits tightly.

* * *

Slowly but surely, Thomas limped his way through the woods that were shaped like hands, grabbing at his ankles and sleeves insistently as if willing him to never leave. It didn't help that he was still wearing the heavy gown, and it weighed down on his shoulders more than ever, now that he was supporting half of Newt's weight.

"Oh, dear lord!" Ava cried as soon as Thomas collapsed on the stairway close to the altar. "What happened?"

"I –––" Thomas wheezed, only to be cut off by Ava. 

"No, what was I thinking..." she muttered under her breath, ignoring Chuck's frantic cries of "Mama, what's happening?" "Someone get Jeff!"

Who's Jeff? Thomas wanted to ask but figured that now wasn't the time. His question was answered by a clang and the squeaky wheels of a medical trolley flailing his direction. Thomas narrowly stepped to the side to avoid being hit. Because Thomas was Thomas and his father had always told him he had two left feet, he tripped over his own feet and almost feel on top of Minho.

"Watch it, shank!" Minho snapped, though it didn't have much fire behind it.

"Here's what you're going to do," Ava cut in. "You're going to go change _quickly_ , and then do your thing. Stay in your room. We'll take care of this."

Mutely, Thomas turned away to change his clothes, but he knew for sure he would be coming back.

* * *

Newt felt the darkness surround him. _What happened? Why was it so dark, all of a sudden? Why couldn't he open his eyes?_

He felt light weight on his right hand, and something supporting it underneath. He pried his eyelids open like peeling scotch tape off the wall, blinking hard. "What–what h-happened?" Newt muttered, his voice scratchy from disuse. Newt tried his best to turn around to the source of the warmth, but he found that he could not move his neck. Whenever he made the slightest adjustment in his body position, it left him aching with a dull ring behind it.

"Stop moving," A soft voice, alike to honey in a river in some way, whispered, stroking their hands over his knuckles.

Thomas?! He was the only person in this castle with hands.

"Tommy?" He inquired. As soon as the nickname left his mouth, his head spun. _Why 'Tommy'_? Newt's incoherent brain asked though it didn't seem to have an answer to its question.

"Tommy?" Thomas questioned, and Newt could imagine him cocking his head like a lost puppy. "That's nice."

If Newt could move, he would've preened. "Why are you here?" He asked gruffly, clearing his throat once.

Thomas' (beautiful) face blinked into existence from above him. "You went out for me, so I figured I'd help you heal."

"If you didn't run, I wouldn't have needed to save your butt," Newt muttered under his breath, _definitely_ not expecting Thomas to catch it. He did.

"Uh, excuse me?" The face above him had suddenly become defensive. "If you hadn't _chased me out_ , I wouldn't have run!"

"Well, if you hadn't went into the West Wing, I wouldn't have chased you out!"

For a moment, Newt could swear he saw Thomas' eyes glow in fury and his cheeks flush red. "MAYBE YOU SHOULD CONTROL YOUR TEMPER!" He shrieked, and Newt winced. Thomas' voice was enough to burst his eardrums, especially when he was healing.

"You –––" for once, Minho was speechless. Newt hadn't even noticed that the rest of his friends were next to him, too, only focused on the one person who had just screamed at him. "I agree," Minho said, slapping his palm against the bed.

"I should have left you," Newt muttered. "You're annoying."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Newt regretted it. He felt a pang of guilt when Thomas' eyes welled up and his face drained of colour, leaving it a slightly translucent shade instead of the usual olive-tinted milky skin. Thomas' lips were trembling, and a tear that had slipped past his eyes trailed down his cheeks, bypassing the corner of that adorable mouth.

"Are you kidding me?" The boy in front of him stood up, pacing around the room. After a while of readjusting his neck, Newt found that he could turn his head, and what he saw was precious, indeed. Thomas was dressed in a simple [sky blue dress](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1waNTvFVfemHVRrc_a9-IgGl-QguyL_vL/view) with thin straps, revealing those pale collarbones and his long neck. The dress went down to slightly above his knees and it accentuated Thomas' waist, which Newt had just noticed was thin. He would bet his entire fortune that Thomas had protruding hipbones that jutted out and exquisite dimples on his thighs. "You ungrateful –––"

"I'm sorry," Newt blurted out before he could finish the rest of the insult. "I shouldn't have said that."

"You shouldn't have," Thomas declared, sitting back down.

"I'm really sorry," Newt whispered, letting his head sink down. "I didn't mean it."

Thomas blinked, then nodded. "I know," he whispered, and his cheeks lit up with their usual rosy tint when Thomas beamed. Newt smiled. Genuinely.


	8. Recognition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something There -   
> Animated: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwZEcdBMLLU&ab_channel=DisneyBluRay411](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwZEcdBMLLU&ab_channel=DisneyBluRay411)  
> Film: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIiy7Pk44eo&ab_channel=EntertainmentAccess](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIiy7Pk44eo&ab_channel=EntertainmentAccess)

As the seasons passed, Beauty and Beast got closer.

Let's take a look from the eyes of others, shall we?

* * *

"Wait...So let me summarise this..." Thomas muttered, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Newt offended a witch with his vanity, so she cursed him to look ugly and the curse has to be broken before all the petals on the roses fall? And not only that, there's only 5 more petals left? And the staff are items as a side effect of the curse put on you and the castle?"

Newt's head spun, overwhelmed by the sheer number of words that were leaping out of Tommy's (which he had grown accustomed to calling Thomas in his head) mouth. "Yes, yes, yes, and yes."

"That's so cool!" Thomas squealed. "I'm living in an _actual_ enchanted castle!"

"Wait, who told you it was enchanted?" Gally growled from the chair next to the boys. "It was you, wasn't it, Minho?"

Minho waved a candle around, and Thomas winced when it dripped wax everywhere. He smacked Gally in the head. "Seriously, shuck-face? Since we supposedly got _cursed_ and we're all household items, I couldn't _fathom_ where he got the idea that this was an enchanted castle!"

Gally's cheeks (the face of the clock) starting to burn read. "Don't call me shuck-face!"

"Settle down, you two!" Newt commanded, his powerful voice booming through the room. Thomas had the sudden queer urge to tilt his head up in submission to him, or to get on his knees. He settled for bowing his head to look at the carpet instead while the others bickered amongst themselves. "Must you guys do this?" Newt groaned, flopping down onto the armchair with a mighty thud.

"Oh no, I daren't speak anymore because you commanded otherwise!" Sonya snapped back, continuing her banter with the boys. It was obvious that even with the Alpha-wolf voice, no one was listening to him.

Thomas smiled. "What are you smiling at?" Newt asked, and his voice had a...softness to it, almost as though it was more _rounded_ from how he interacted with the others before. The reason being that Newt was definitely starting to develop a soft spot for the boy with the amber eyes. He was always so adorably curious, and naive, too (not to mention beautiful. Absolutely _beautiful_ ). If Newt threw him into the real world, he'd have 1 second of peace before a protective urge struck him, and he would turn back for Tommy.

When Newt thought about Tommy, he got a tingling feeling in his stomach that he'd never felt before. He had the urge to impress him, to make him happy.

He felt sick, but sick with _what_ , he didn't know.

Minho observed Newt from the corner of his eye while Sonya and Gally bickered good naturally. They were going to get together one day, Minho just _knew_ it. Anyway, being the good friend he was to Newt, he could read the other boy's mind almost as if it was his own, and he was _positive_ that Newt was thinking about his newfound feeling for Thomas, or Tommy, as had slipped out of Newt's mouth once or twice.

Newt didn't know why he was feeling what he was?

He was sick. _Sick with love,_ Minho thought. _For the first time._

* * *

Thomas giggled as the soft, fluffy snow landed on the tip of his nose.

"You're going crossed eyed," Newt huffed, wiping the smudge of snow off Thomas' nose with a fond smile.

Thomas grinned at the feeling of the soft fur on the fingers of Newt's hands. They made for a perfectly warm cover for his nose, which was bright red from multiple snowflakes. "Your fur is soft," he told Newt, wincing after it came out of his mouth. Jorge often told Thomas that he needed to "control his filtre", but as far as Thomas was concerned, he didn't have one.

"Thank you," Newt replied, sending him a fond look.

"Watch out!" That was the only warning Thomas gave before he bundled up snow in his hands, which were covered with knitted mittens (courtesy of Teresa), and threw the snow ball straight at the back of Newt's head. Newt only stood dumbly as the pale snow spattered him and left white flecks on his dark fur.

"I'm going to AAHHHHH!" Thomas squealed as Newt brunched up a giant snowball and thrusted it to Thomas with full force. The impact knocked Thomas over, and he, thankfully, landed in the drift of snow beneath his feet. "Not cool!" Thomas said, shivering as he stood up. "Not cool!"

* * *

"There's something sweet," Thomas told Teresa as he curled up in his bed, waiting for sleep to take him from the darkness.

"What?" Teresa whispered back, getting ready for sleep as well. "You're going to have to _tell_ me, Tom!"

"And it's sort of kind, too," Thomas continued, not leading her words. "But...I don't know. He was mean, coarse...unrefined. This is...different."

"What are you talking about, Tom?" Teresa asked, stifling a yawn. She was pretty sure what, or of whom, she should say, Thomas was talking about, but she couldn't afford to get her hopes up. She wasn't even sure it was who she thought it was (though who else could it be?) and if it was, it _definitely_ didn't mean romantic interest. From Thomas' side, at least. Teresa was observant; it's why she worked as Chancellor Paige's apprentice. She could detect the signs of love in Newt's whole demeanour – it was like his body sceamed "I'M SICK WITH LOVE! I'M IN LOVE WITH THOMAS!" and flashed a neon sign in Teresa's mind.

"I can't believe that I...like him now, Tess!" Thomas whined. "I mean, one moment I hated him, another I resented, but now, I sort of...enjoy his company?"

Before Teresa could interject... "Oh gosh, Teresa," Thomas called out to the chilly air around them. "This isn't Stockholm Syndrome, is it? Oh no, I have Stockholm Syndrome?"

Teresa rolled her eyes. Thomas was...clueless, to say the least. Couldn't _anyone_ recognise the things called "feelings", "genuine affection", or "love"? Sure, the last one was a far stretch (at least, for _now_ ) but it was still something that neither boy knew how to tell from first sight, or even second. "You don't have Stockholm Syndrome, dummy," she snorted out. "It's natural that you like Newt; I thought that you'd get along."

"He's just so...different now! He's so unsure around me!" _It's because he likes you!_ Teresa wanted to scream, but she knew it wasn't her secret to tell. She was only an outsider for this, and it was not her place to interfere with the dynamics; they would settle themselves out, eventually. _Eventually._

"Maybe," Teresa added in blandly, sticking with the nonchanlent replies.

"I wonder...I wonder why I didn't see it there before?" Thomas questioned, and he didn't say anything else.

A few minutes further, Thomas was asleep, his face smushed into his pillow. Teresa's eyes remained wide, thinking about the last question. _Why_ didn't _he see it there before?_

* * *

"He just...glanced this way, you know?" Newt said, grunting. He was sat next to the fireplace, the others beside him on a few spare cushions and chairs. "And I thought I saw that something changed. I just felt...different, you know? Like he felt different about me so I should, too."

"Really?" Sonya asked, her voice laced with just the right tone of sarcasm.

Newt didn't notice; he had his eyes focused into a centre point in the fireplace, as though it was the secret to all their problems. Gally hadn't seen Newt like this ever since...ever since Katie McVoy happened. Granted, Gally didn't interact with Newt often before the curse, except to be his rival or when he was summoned to Newt's chambers to work, but Newt was never _this_ focused. Thomas must be special if Newt was succumbed in dreamland speculating about him.

"Yeah," Newt replied dreamily. "He didn't shudder at my paw, did you know?"

"We did," Minho informed him bluntly (and quite brutally, in Gally's opinion). "We were there."

"It just _can't be_ , though."

"Give it a few days more," Harriet snorted. "Then it _will_ be."

Gally quite agreed with them; anyone could see the chemistry between those two, but nobody brought their hopes up. Newt, when he was younger, had many a fling, and none of them went down that path. Then again, none of them were situated with these circumstances, and none of those people were Thomas, either.

"Maybe since it wasn't there before..." Newt observed.

"Perhaps," Minho echoed, blowing out his candles and lying down, reclining against the sofa.

* * *

"This is so new," Thomas murmured to Harriet as he sat crossed legged on the rug. The days were getting colder, and he was going out to his balcony less often, though he visited the gardens plenty, as by permission of Newt. He had gotten used to spending days chatting with the staff, notably Teresa, Harriet, and Minho, or pestering Newt for books. "Did you think I would be...like _this_? And that Newt and I would be _friends_?"

Harriet played a cheerful tune. "It is funny, indeed," she replied dutifully.

"I mean, true," Thomas grinned. "He's no Prince Charming..."

If Harriet could move, she could've tensed at that. Per see, since she _couldn't_ , the only thing that changed was that her melody stopped. Not that Thomas noticed. "But there's just something I didn't notice there before, you know? I simply didn't _see_ it. I wish I had."

* * *

"Who'd have thought?" Minho asked Gally. "That forest attack brought them together."

"Yeah, who'd have known?" Sonya wondered where she was leaned against Harriet. 

"It is peculiar, yes," Harriet chimed in. "Let's just wait and see; maybe it'd develop into something more."

"Just a few days more," Gally agreed. 

"There was just...something that there wasn't there before." 

"Wait," Sonya cut in. "Did you just...rhyme your sentences? I mean –––"

"Shut up, Lizzy," Minho grumbled. 

"Sure," Sonya, or Lizzy grinned, shaking her brightly coloured feathers around at Minho. The dust flew all over the place, and Minho coughed.

"Hey! What was that for?!"

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like me to do a specific storyline AU, just request it! You can request ships, too, but I'm not exactly notorious for knowing that many ships or even watching that many films, so I may not write for the ship you want.


End file.
